


Stammi Vicino, Non Te Ne Andare

by livinglittlelie



Series: Victuuri week challenge [2]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Day 2: AU time travel, Day 2: Yuuri reunion, M/M, SO MUCH FLUFF, Victuuri Week, Viktor with K, because you guys know I'm a sucker for fluff, vague descriptions of the beginning of an anxiety attack, very minor angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-08
Updated: 2017-02-08
Packaged: 2018-09-22 21:35:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,039
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9626600
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/livinglittlelie/pseuds/livinglittlelie
Summary: When Yuuri realised his mind had, somehow, thrown back in time, two weeks before the GPF at Sochi, he thought he was dreaming. But a quick (and quite painful) pinch on his arm confirmed it was indeed real.The question now was why? And was he the only one?





	

**Author's Note:**

> This AU just didn’t want to let me go. I wanted to write a time travel AU for so long, and now I had the excuse! I just got a bit… carried away.

At first, it had been hard to recognise his surroundings. What can you expect, if he shouldn’t even be there?

He spent a long time just lying in the bed, trying to clear his foggy mind and sort out his memories. He remembered being at the ice rink, polishing a brand new performance Viktor and him had choreographed together. Then, in the middle of a quad Salchow, he suddenly felt a wave of… something. It was warm and cold at the same time, making him feel strangely weightless and heavy all of the sudden. It was the most bizarre sensation he’d ever had in his life.

He had lost concentration then, that feeling overwhelming his senses, and the next thing he knew was that he was in the process of falling at high speed. He knew he didn’t have time to correct his trajectory. The crash was inevitable.

He closed his eyes, waiting with resignation for what would surely be an ugly (and very painful) fall, but it never came. And when he opened his eyes again, there he was. On a really familiar bed in a really familiar room, a room he hadn’t been in for at least two years.

What was he doing in Detroit, of all places?

The room was dark, the pale light of the moonlight the only source of light available. He grabbed his phone resting by the bedside table and turned it on. The bright light blinded him momentarily, and he rubbed his eyes in exhaustion. Once done loading, he introduced the pin mechanically and looked at the time. God, it was really late. How much time had he been unconscious?

His eyes darted to the date and gasped. He sat up hastily, blinking to try to clear away the fog that was making him see things. Because the date showed at the screen was impossible. He loaded his browser, checking out the date in news webpages, in social media and official websites, yet the date remained unchanged.

It was the 29th of November, 2015. Two years ago.

What did that mean? That had to be a joke, right? Or maybe he’d hit his head a bit too hard in his fall, and he was seeing things. Or maybe it was a dream. Yeah, it had to be a weird dream, because it wasn’t possible to be thrown back in time, less than two years ago, to relive the worst period of his life.

It wasn’t possible that the little scar he had in his left hand, caused when Yurio had been a bit too aggressive in his demonstrations of love – the one that made him look like a kicked puppy whenever they bumped ways for a whole month – had disappeared.

It wasn’t possible that Viktor’s ring wasn’t resting on his finger.

He pinched himself in his arm as hard as he could, until he could feel his skin almost tearing, and he could see the beginnings of a bruise in there. He buried his hands on his hair, tugging painfully, hiding it between his knees, and his breath quickened in panic.

It wasn’t a dream. It _wasn’t_ a dream. It shouldn’t have been possible, yet there he was, in a body two years younger than him, in Detroit, with a vivid memory of a time that hadn’t happened yet. Because, if all of this was indeed real, and he had, somehow, been thrown back in time, that meant he hadn’t gone back to Hasetsu with Viktor after the world’s, a gold medal hanging proudly in his neck.

That meant he hadn’t placed second after Yuri at the GPF in Barcelona.

That meant he didn’t have a fiancé.

That meant he hadn’t made his comeback from the lower competitions after his shameful defeat. But that also meant that all the time Viktor spent in Hasetsu training him hadn’t happened either. And, if the date was right, and it was, indeed, the 29th of November, that meant he hadn’t been in Sochi yet.

And Viktor didn’t know him.

Feeling restless, and teasing way too near the line of panicking, he grabbed his training bag and bolted out of the room, making his way through the familiar corridors of the dorms until he was out of the building.

It had snowed some days prior, and a thin coat of snow had piled up at both sides of the road. Yuuri didn’t notice the cold, though, as focused as he was to get to the ice rink as soon as possible. Once the building was at sight, he fastened his pace, his footsteps being the only sound disturbing the silent night. He took out the keys for the front door and stepped inside, closing the door behind him.

The still air of the room managed to calm his nerves a bit. He made his way to the deserted rink, tightening his hold in the strap of the bag. He dropped his things unceremoniously on the nearest bench to the rink, taking off his shoes hastily and lacing up his skates with precision. Stretching his numb muscles, he threw himself to the ice, making sure his muscles warmed up before he started.  

His body felt weird. He wasn’t sure he could pinpoint how so, but it did. It was almost like his insecurity and awkwardness of that time was ingrained in his muscles, knotting them and making them feel stiff. Frowning at his own weakness, he threw all his insecurities aside and did a quad Salchow. His landing was rough and a bit wobbly on his knees, but he hadn’t fallen, and that’s what counted.

He kept on doing quad Salchows until he got them right, until he regained that sense of thrill and security once his blades touched the ice again, one that past Yuuri never had felt, and one that future Yuuri had learnt to love. Once he mastered his Salchow once again, he changed to toe-loops, then Lutz, until he covered all the jumps.

He left the flip for last. The first time he did a quad flip, his body met the ice, but it was understandable. The Katsuki Yuuri of 22 years would have never dreamt of performing a quad flip in all his professional career, yet alone landing it perfectly.

The ice felt cold and biting against his ungloved hands, and he was reminded once again of how real that situation was. He lied on the ice for some minutes, letting his breathing turn deep and his heart slow down. He felt panic leaving his tensed joints, and his head cleared. It didn’t matter he had come back, he would make sure to fix everything. He wouldn’t give up.

He stood up carefully and began skating again, throwing himself into another quad flip, trying to fix all the minor mistakes he’d done before. Only his hand touched the ice them. He called that progress.

He jumped, and jumped, and jumped some more, ignoring the way his body was begging him to slow down and get some rest, because he knew his body could endure much more than that. He wasn’t praised for his stamina for anything. He jumped until he got it perfect. He needed perfect. He owed him to have this jump perfect.

His body soared the sky, doing the necessary rotations, and his blades landed in the ice with confidence, one knee bended for support and his arms extended gracefully. He’d done it. He stopped then, his breaths coming in ragged mouthfuls, and his heart pounding wild in his chest with excitement.

He did it again, trying to test whether it had been a fluke of luck or if he had really nailed the technique down, and when he landed it again, he had to stop himself from cheering out loud.

He ran a hand through his hair, tucking away the damp strands sticking to his forehead. He finally noticed that the sun was already rising, the soft hues of dawn illuminating the wide room. He glided towards the edge of the rink and grabbed the phone from his jacket, checking the time. It was 6:36 in the morning, an hour and a half before practice started. He didn’t have time to go back and get some rest, so he might as well keep on going.

He decided it was a good time as any to check both of his programs for the GPF, and change them a bit. His memory of them was blurry, as his head was determined to erase as much as he could about what happened in Sochi, so any change would be welcomed. He began loading both of his programs in his phone to refresh his memory, and winced at the sloppiness of his jumps. Yeah, he had to change that.

After rewatching his Short Program twice, trying to memorise the choreo as much as possible, he glided towards the centre of the rink and began dancing, fixing as he went along all the mistakes he’d noticed in the video. His body remembered enough of the performance so he could focus on changing steps to make the dance less cropped and more flowing, making time for the new jumps.

Once he ended, he did it again, focusing entirely in the whole of the performance this time, and testing how the changes felt. He finished polishing his entrances to his jumps, encompassing everything with the music until it seemed that the music was following him, not the other way around.

He finished with an arm raised to the air, his hand reaching far above the ceiling on top of him, even further than the sky. He heard clapping then, and Yuuri dropped his arms, looking around in confusion, just to see Celestino looking back at him with a wide smile on his face.

“I see you changed your Short Program.”

Yuuri nodded, and answered between mouthfuls of air. “I felt it wasn’t good enough, so I came early to practice.”

“I don’t know if you can consider 4 AM being early or late.” The Japanese opened his mouth to protest, but Ciao Ciao beat him to it. “Phichit heard you leave, and texted me this morning when he didn’t find you in your room.”

Oh, of course. Phichit’s room was in front of his, and he remembered they checked on each other – more like Phichit checked on him when he had another anxiety attack – regularly. He hadn’t even made an effort to be silent this morning, so of course Phichit had heard him. He should talk to him to reassure him he was okay.

“Now, Yuuri,” Celestino’s tone of voice snapped him out of his musings, “care to explain how did you manage to land three quads without batting an eye, when just yesterday you still struggled with a triple Salchow?”

He winced inwardly at that. Now how was he going to explain that?

“I… practiced?”

“How long have you been practicing complex jumps without supervision?”

“For… a while.”

Celestino raised an eyebrow, not quite believing his half-assed explanations – and he couldn’t blame him; he wouldn’t believe them either – but relented. Seeing as Yuuri wouldn’t say anything else about it, he sighed in defeat.

“You should’ve told me, Yuuri. What you did was really dangerous; a nasty fall and you’d have hurt yourself. And with the GPF around the corner, we can’t allow ourselves these kind of mishaps.”

“Yes, coach Celestino.”

He chuckled at his downcast expression, and crossed his arms, his stern façade falling to show the excitement and, dare he say, pride, he felt then.

“That matter aside, your performance was impeccable. I have never seen you so in the top of your game as now, and so close to the GFP! What triggered this change?”

He shrugged, not quite sure how to answered. “I just… felt I could do much more than that. I didn’t want my anxiety getting in the way of my love for skating.”

At least that’s what had happened in his other life. Viktor helped him remember just how much he loved the ice, and returned him his motivation to keep going despite all the deeds. He taught him to be confident in himself, that he was perfect just the way he was.

God, how he missed him.

“Good, good!” Celestino beamed proudly. “I’m so proud of you, Yuuri! You did an impressive progress in such a short time! If you keep up your hard work like that, you’ll be the big surprise at Sochi! They won’t know what’s coming for them, and once they do, it’ll be too late. Even Viktor Nikiforov himself will have a hard time trying to beat you.”

Yuuri tried with all his might to conceal his wince at the mention of the other skater. He bowed slightly to hide his painful grimace, hoping that the other wouldn’t look too much into it. Thankfully, if Celestino had noticed something, he decided not to comment about it.

“So, have you also changed your Free Skate?”

“Not yet, but I was going to do it once I finished fixing my SP.”

Ciao Ciao nodded. “Perfect. Let’s make use of this surge of inspiration to its fullest. Now, show me again the SP and I’ll give you my opinion about it, then we can check the FS later. We have a deal?”

“Yeah.”

Yuuri positioned himself in the centre of the rink, and started again.

* * *

Days passed by quickly since then. Celestino and him spent extra hours at the rink, polishing the two performances into a brand new act.

Phichit sometimes joined them, phone in hand as he filmed his friend skating with a confidence he had never seen on the other man. Celestino banned him from posting anything in his many social media accounts, threatening him of taking his phone from him until Sochi ended. Phichit had looked horrified at the prospect of being separated from the love of his life, and had tuned down his uploads, only posting selfies of the two together, rooting for him.

When Yuuri asked Ciao Ciao if he was notifying the judges about the change, he just laughed and patted his back, telling him he didn’t need to worry about anything. He should perform at his best, and he would make sure it was a bombshell. If he wanted to keep the ‘Rebirth of Katsuki Yuuri’, as he called it, for himself for a little while, he couldn’t do anything about it.

Yuuri didn’t care if he surprised them or not. He just wanted to skate at his fullest potential.

In the late of night, his mind was filled of his memories of the past merging with his new memories. He wondered how this change in him would affect the future. He didn’t want to change it very much – he was happy in his future, but he couldn’t bring himself to repeat all those mistakes, if he could avoid them.

The death of Vicchan, however, was inevitable. It had happened months before he came back, so he couldn’t do anything about it. However, instead of feeling depressed about it, like the time before, he just cherished the bittersweet memories he had of the little poodle. He had already had the time to mourn him, and he knew he wouldn’t want it otherwise.

Time passed in a blur of practices, hanging out with Phichit and spending hours at night looking at his phone, wondering if he should call Viktor or not. But what could he say to him, if he wasn’t sure if the other man even know him at all? What if he said the wrong thing and it drove him away? He knew how to talk to the Viktor that knew Yuuri, but he had no idea how to address a Viktor who didn’t know who he was.

Yuuri arrived at Sochi feeling restless. He wanted so badly to see Viktor, but was afraid at his reaction at the same time. Would he know who he was? Would he recognise him or not, like the first time? He wasn’t sure he would be able to handle seeing Viktor looking at him like a stranger.  

However, he didn’t have the opportunity to check it, as he didn’t see Viktor in the hotel, neither at the ice rink before the competition the next day. He’d heard people comment they’ve seen him once or twice, but how come they kept on missing each other? He had seen all the other male competitors, even some juniors, but him.

He even caught a glimpse of a disgruntled Yurio ignoring Yakov scolding. He looked so little in there, wearing the hood of his jacket and leaning back on the chair, checking his phone while Yakov ranted by his side in Russian…

He may have teared up a bit.

His turn to skate had come way too soon, and he had missed Viktor completely. Where was he? Why was fate playing with him, when they were so close to each other? He heard half-heartedly Ciao Ciao’s reassuring words, his eyes looking around, trying to spot the Russian man. He skated to the centre of the rink, looking around at the crowd, hoping to find that luscious silver hair in the middle of it.

He fell in position and looked to the side, and there he was, looking as beautiful and ethereal as always. He was standing behind the barriers, his eyes fixed on him and only him, looking back with intensity. He felt shivering going through him, and he had to resist the urge to close his eyes in content. God, he had missed him so much.

The music began, and Yuuri started his performance. He was so happy to have seen Viktor before his performance. He was behind the barrier, looking at him like when he had been his coach. He could dance for him again.

He threw himself to his performance, pouring in all the longing, all the admiration, all the love for him to see. He wanted to tell him. He wanted him to know so badly. He wanted him to know that it didn’t matter if he didn’t remember, he still had love for the both of them.

He started the second part of the SP, where all the jumps were packed together. It was time to surprise him, to remind him why he had liked Yuuri in the first place. Viktor lived for surprises, and he was about to give him just what he craved for.

He could hear the loud gasps coming from the audience at his sudden improvement, and the announcers weren’t faring much better. How could they be, when they see someone who couldn’t even land his triples decently three weeks ago could suddenly do quads like it was no big business? But Yuuri didn’t care for them, he just cared for the Russian man looking at him at the barriers.

The song was ending, and he knew it was time for the big declaration, for something he had kept in secret even from his own coach. From a three-turn, he took off from a toe pick, soaring the skies as he did the necessary rotations, and lifting an arm in the process. His blades landed effortlessly on the ice and he extended his arms, his head risen high as he proceeded to the  end of the choreography.

The music was almost inaudible by the time he was completing his final spins, the roars of the public covering the sweet melody. Yuuri kept on going, and when he came to a stop, instead of doing his prior ending pose, he hugged himself, kissing the finger where his ring was supposed to be placed.

He returned to himself when the crowd became too deafening. He looked around, trying to spot Viktor again, but he was nowhere to be found. Where was he? Where was he!?

Turning towards the kiss and cry, he gasped. Viktor was at the doorway, panting heavily and his hair in a disarray, almost as he had ran as fast as he could to the door. Yuuri stood frozen in the ice, the situation way too familiar and bringing tears to his eyes. Then, Viktor extended his arms in a way he had done so many times before, and Yuuri beamed, propelling his body as fast as he could towards the other man.

When he was about to reach the edge, Viktor jumped towards him, cradling his face softly before joining their lips together in their fall. Yuuri choked a sob at that, memories of the Cup of China coming to mind. Then, his strong arms embraced him, cushioning him from his fall. He was breathless when their bodies met the ice, and he could feel his heart beating strongly against his chest.

“ _Yuuri._ ” Viktor mumbled against his neck, his voice almost breaking. Yuuri could feel the tears prickling at the corner of his eyes, but couldn’t help but smile brightly at the ceiling. He tightened his hold on him, and laughed breathlessly.

“ _Viktor._ You’re here too.”

He put some space from them, and looked at him with a small frown. He could see the tears he was desperately trying to hold. “Of course I’m here. I bowed to you I’d stay close to you and never let go, didn’t I?”

Yuuri laughs hearty at that, and it managed to draw out a chuckle from Viktor. He stood up, and lent him a hand, helping the other skater get up from the ice. He didn’t let go of his hand.

“You’re skating last, right?”

“Yeah. Although I have the feeling it’ll be very hard to beat your score, Yuuri.”

He rolled his eyes, but he couldn’t take away his goofy smile. “Come on, Celestino’s waiting for me. Moreover, I think Yakov is having an aneurism right now. He’s an old man, Vitya, you have to take care of him.”

Viktor leaned down, resting his forehead in his. “Have I ever told you I love it when you call me Vitya?”

“Yeah, you have, multiple times.” _Sometimes without words._ He put some space between them again, and looked around in amusement. “You know we’re confusing the hell out of all this people, right?”

Viktor winked at him. “You know I love to surprise my audience.”

He laughed. “Come on, Vitya! You need to go.”

“In a moment.” He rose their joined hands, and kissed his ring finger, even though the jewel wasn’t there anymore. He smirked against his skin. “I’m all charged up, now. Now go to the Kiss and Cry with your soon-to-be former coach. I need to know which score I have to beat.”

Shaking his head in fond exasperation, he made his way to the bench. Celestino was waiting for him in there, looking at Yuuri almost as if it was the first time he’d seen him. He opened his mouth, but no sound came from it. Yuuri sat down beside him, not saying a word about it.

His score came in then, and the whole stadium broke into pandemonium. Yuuri strained his eyes to read the score at the screen, making sure he had heard correctly. He had beaten Viktor’s world record.

He felt Celestino arm on his shoulders, his shock momentarily forgotten by the news. He smiled politely at the cameras and waved at the audience, feeling a bit self-conscious, and he was glad when they could get out of there.

He stayed at the side of the rink, looking fondly at Viktor’s performance. He could see where he had changed his initial choreography, brought by the Viktor that had coached him for one year and a half, and had found his inspiration back. However, it seemed it wasn’t enough, as he placed two points below him. However, it didn’t dampen his mood, and he regarded the audience with the same passion as always.

Yuuri was making his way to the lockers when he bumped into Yurio. He just stared at him without saying a word, and Yuuri had to resist the urge to fidget under his steely gaze. Why did a teenager have such a steely gaze!?

“… you skated well,” he finally said, leaving the other man staring at his back when he left his way. Before he was out of sight, though, he stopped without looking back, and added, “… stupid Katsudon.”

Yuuri was startled for a moment, but chuckled fondly afterwards. “See you at the seniors next year, Yurio.”

“Whatever.”

The afternoon continued without further havoc, if you ignored completely all the questions the press kept on firing his way, only being answered with a polite bow and a ‘We will see how the Free Skate goes’. By the end of the day, several social media had crashed thrice, and the whole world had more questions than answers at that point.

Viktor and Yuuri lied on Yuuri’s hotel bed, their limbs tangled up together, and a blanket thrown on them. Their breathing had encompassed a while ago, and both were content of being just sharing each other’s heat after so long of being apart. Yuuri drew little doodles on Viktor’s chest, and the Russian nuzzled his hair.

“You know,” he said after a long time in silence. Yuuri rose his head to look at him properly. “When I first saw you fall that way at the practice, I had been really scared. You were heading headfirst into the ice, and I couldn’t do nothing to stop it. Then I felt something very strange coming my way, and when I opened my eyes I was the one falling on his butt.”

“Did you hurt yourself?”

“Nah, just a nasty bruise. However, everyone was looking at me as if I had grown a second head. Oh, my, the great Viktor Nikiforov falling after a jump. What a sight,” he scoffed.

Yuuri placed a kiss on his collarbone. “What happened next?”

“Well, it took a while to really believe I was in the past. It shouldn’t have been possible, right? Then, when reality settled in, I kept training, changing my programs a bit, and messed up with Yurio, who was snappier than I remember him to be.”

“I think he’s come back to. He called me Katsudon.”

“Really?” he sighed happily, “that’s a relief. Anyway, I spent as much time as possible in the ice and with Makkachin. I also wondered whether to call you or not, but I didn’t know if you’d made it back, so I decided I’d wait until Sochi to talk to you. I guessed I would strike up a friendly conversation, or something along the way, but when I got here I couldn’t find you anywhere.”

“It happened to me too. It seems we missed each other.”

“Yeah. However, I knew I could find you if I went to the rink when it was your turn out, so I went in there, just to see you skating to the middle of the rink.” His hold around him tightened around him. “You looked so beautiful in there, Yuuri, almost ethereal. Then your SP began, and your movements were so fluid and your jumps perfect, but it was the quad flip that confirmed it. You were _my_ Yuuri, in every sense of the word.”

“And you are mine.” Yuuri sighed. “I’m glad to have you here with me.”

“Me too.”

The Japanese chuckled slightly then. “I’m just bummed we couldn’t keep our rings.”

“Oh, but that’s easily fixed.”

Viktor placed a kiss on his head and reached for his jacket, which was lying forgotten in the floor. Yuuri stared at him in confusion as he rummaged in his pockets, trying to find something buried deep within. With a soft ‘aha!’, he took something out from there and handed it to Yuuri. It was a tiny box. He opened it and his eyes widened when he saw what was inside.

“Just what the hell were you going to do with my past self?”

Viktor shrugged, his face showing his familiar carefree smile. “There’s nothing wrong with trying. Who knows? Perhaps you’d say yes.” he then grabbed one of the rings from the box and presented it to the other man, his eyes full of love. “Yuuri, would you do me the pleasure to be mine again?”

“Of course yes, you ridiculous man.”

Yuuri put a hand on his neck and brought his head down, meeting him halfway in a soaring kiss. Viktor put the ring in its rightful place and kissed it just like before. Yuuri repeated the process on him, and after that, both of them got the matching rings again.

They fell asleep in that position, both of them not wanting to be away of each other. Viktor was the first one to wake up, the sun coming from the window blinding him slightly. He looked down at the man in his arms, and the happiness he felt at that single moment was incomparable.

He reached for his phone, which was resting on the bedside table, and took a quick picture of the both of them. He checked it out, and almost cooed at the adorableness of the man sleeping soundly against him. His head was buried in his shoulder, his shorter strands sticking out slightly, and his mouth was curved up in satisfaction, as if he was in the most comfortable place of the whole world. And in his hand, the gold band was in plain view, shining slightly with the morning light.

His heart sang with happiness.

“Yuuri.” He shook him gently, earning a breathy hum from the other. “Can I break the internet?”

Yuuri hummed again, and buried his head some more in his chest. “We already did yesterday, but go ahead. It’s not as if we didn’t use do that in a daily basis.”

Chuckling at his answer, Viktor opened his Instagram account. His feed was full of different pictures and videos of both of their performances, and a complete analysis of their interaction. Grinning to himself, he posted the picture he just got, choosing the filter that made the ring glint more.

**v_nikiforov** Look at this beauty! #MyTastyKatsudon #KatsukiYuuri #sleepingbeauty #itShinesSoMuch! #Sochi2015 #StammiVicinoNonTeNeAndare

In the matter of a minute, Instagram collapsed.


End file.
